


The Slash Fairy Cometh (and so does everyone else)

by Cyberwulf



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Humor, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberwulf/pseuds/Cyberwulf
Summary: Théoden and Denethor hunt the elusive Slash Fairy after she makes them... do things. Over and over. Featuring the horses of Middle Earth, with music by Fountains of Wayne, Celine Dion and Kenny Loggins.





	The Slash Fairy Cometh (and so does everyone else)

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, here's some nonsense I wrote a hundred years ago. Enjoy!

Théoden opened his eyes a crack and groaned at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. His head was pounding. Why had he drunk so much the previous evening? It was most uncharacteristic of him. The king of Rohan closed his eyes and rolled away from the yellow light. If he had to pay for last night's over-indulgence, he could at least make things as painless as possible…

He froze as his leg brushed against another's.

Théoden opened his eyes.

"Nyeeaagh!"

He scrambled away and fell off the edge of the bed, pulling the blankets with him.

Denethor shivered and felt around for the covers. Finding none, he opened his eyes.

"What in blazes –" The Steward of Gondor looked about him. "This is not my chamber!"

Clutching his head, Théoden emerged from the pile of woollen blankets on the floor and stood up slowly. Denethor let out a yell and hid his nakedness with a pillow.

"What in Mordor are you doing here?" Denethor demanded.

"The pertinent question is, what are YOU doing here?" Théoden responded hotly, wrapping a blanket around his waist. "This is MY bedchamber."

"Give me something with which to cover myself, man, for Elbereth's sake!" Denethor snapped, blushing. Théoden flung a bearskin at him and then sat on the edge of the bed, with his back to the Steward.

"How did this happen?" the king wondered sorrowfully.

"How did this happen?!" Denethor repeated angrily. He shook a trembling finger at Théoden. "You must have got me drunk!"

Théoden twisted around and glared at him. "Me?! We shared the wine YOU brought!" He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "And it went right to my head…"

"You were the one who invited me here!" Denethor accused.

"YOU started to reminisce about your wife," Théoden shot back, "reminding me of how much I miss my beloved Elfhilde, and then…" He looked at Denethor, then at the rumpled sheets, and put his head in his hands.

Denethor pulled the bearskin more tightly around himself and inched towards the edge of the bed.

"No," he declared, shaking his head. "No. Perhaps… perhaps your, your son and nephew merely laid us in bed together as some sort of boyish jape…"

"Nay, we were intimate," Théoden groaned. "I feel it in my heart… and… other parts."

Denethor gagged and looked around for something to be sick in.

Théoden rubbed his hands over his face, then looked up slowly at the ceiling.

"Denethor… what is that?"

"What is what?" Denethor asked, wiping his mouth on the edge of the sheet.

Théoden pointed.

The creature hovering in the corner of the ceiling looked very much like some sort of large, exotic butterfly with rainbow wings, but when one looked more closely, one saw that it possessed the body of an Elf maiden, and shone with a strange glow.

"It cannot be!" Denethor exclaimed. "'Tis a Slash Fairy!"

"Slash fairy?"

"No, 'Slash Fairy'," Denethor corrected. "It is said they flit from place to place, inciting…" He glanced quickly at Théoden. "…passion between members of the same gender. I had thought they were merely an invention of Faramir's, created to excuse his debauched behaviour…"

"You mean she is the reason for…" Théoden gestured at the bed.

"So it would seem," Denethor replied, wishing Alka-Seltzer existed in the Tolkien-verse.

"Then soon she shall be no more!" Théoden vowed. He struck a regal pose, managing to look ferocious and majestic in spite of having bed hair and wearing nothing but a blanket. "For this outrage – this indignity – I shall destroy the Slash Fairy!" He looked around him. "Where have I put my sword…"

Denethor pointed. "She moves!"

The Slash Fairy descended from the ceiling and fluttered across the bed. Théoden jumped onto the mattress and swung his arm in an attempt to swat her. Sparkling rainbow powder showered onto the king and the steward.

Denethor sneezed.

Théoden coughed.

Denethor gazed upwards at Théoden's broad, powerful chest, sprinkled with gold and silver hairs.

Théoden sank slowly onto the mattress, staring into Denethor's beautiful yet haunted eyes.

"Denethor…" Théoden breathed, inching closer to his heart's desire.

"Majesty…" Denethor whispered, revelling in the feeling of having such power over a king.

"She's done it to us again, hasn't she?"

"I fear so."

"Mmm…"

"Aahh…"

 

Fresh from a brisk, early morning bath, the illustrious Lord Celeborn wandered into his chamber and halted in surprise.

"Haldir!" he exclaimed, clutching the rather skimpy towel around his waist. "What is the meaning of this?"

Haldir waggled his eyebrows.

"Surely an Elf of your wisdom and experience can deduce the meaning of this," he purred, gesturing to his slender, naked body.

Celeborn just stared. Unnoticed, the Slash Fairy flitted out the door, lightly dusting Celeborn with rainbow powder as she went.

Haldir rolled onto his side and patted the mattress next to him.

"Come here, dear one. Get comfortable."

Celeborn brushed away a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth and closed the door behind him. He approached the bed, mesmerised by the marchwarden's lithe yet powerful body, all the fantasies he'd ever had, etc., and various other clichés. He sank onto the soft mattress, and brushed an errant strand of blonde hair away from Hal's face, before leaning down to brush his lips tenderly against –

Just then a pair of Elves fell out of the wardrobe, locked in a passionate clinch.

"Rumil! Orophin!" Haldir cried reproachfully. The brothers scrambled to their feet, hastily rearranging their clothes.

"Sorry," Rumil said sheepishly. "We were just… er…"

"Incest?" Haldir asked, one eyebrow raised in disapproval.

"The surrounding taboo just made it more erotic," Orophin explained.

"You are positively disgusting," Haldir replied in disdain, ladling honey on himself.

Lady Galadriel burst into her husband's chamber.

"I know not why, my lord Celeborn, but I feel compelled to shriek at you like a harpy…" Galadriel trailed off as she beheld the scene within. A small smile appeared on her lips. "Or, perhaps I shall just watch."

"Ah, there is the wanton I wed," Celeborn purred, taking his wife in his arms. He picked Galadriel up and set her on the divan, where she would have an excellent view of the proceedings.

"Now…" Celeborn paused and stroked his chin thoughtfully. " Where did I put that Vial of Oil?"

 

Théoden and Denethor barged out of the bedchamber together, jostling each other as they did so.

"Do not DARE tell anyone of what transpired between us!" Denethor warned.

Théoden snorted.

"Have no fear," he growled. "I want no-one to know I had YOU grunting and heaving against me."

"Grunting?!" Denethor asked angrily.

"Like a pig," Théoden spat. "And you dribble."

"Well YOU, sire, stink of horse!" Denethor retorted huffily. "Helm's Deep will not turn to rubble if you slap some deodorant under your armpits!"

Théoden responded with a Rohirric hand gesture signifying contempt. Denethor glared back, then started down the corridor.

"When we catch the Slash Fairy, I shall rip off her wings, put out her eyes, and then burn her hair off," he declared.

"You may do as you wish," Théoden replied, " as long as I may impale her on something sharp and pointy."

"Very well," Denethor answered. The pair reached the throne room.

"If only we knew in what direction she went..." Théoden grumbled, pushing the door open.

"I love you more..."

"No, I love _you_ more..."

The king and the steward stared at their sons canoodling together on the throne. Théodred caught sight of his father and quickly removed his tongue from Boromir's mouth.

"Father!" The prince of Rohan attempted to straighten himself up, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. "You, you are late to rise this morning..."

"Or perhaps not," Boromir said with a suggestive wink, taking in both men's state of dishevelment.

With a roar of horror, Denethor stormed up to the throne, grabbed his oldest son firmly by the ear and hauled him off Théodred's lap.

"Noooo!" Théodred howled, as Denethor hustled Boromir out of the Golden Hall. He fell to the ground melodramatically. "Boz!"

"'Dred!" Boromir cried, trying in vain to cling on to the doorframe. Denethor reached out with his free hand and pried Boromir's fingers away from the wood.

"Now straight to Minas Tirith with you," the Steward commanded, pushing his son out the door, "and be sure to study every inch of these wood carvings of naked women on the way!"

"Ow! Yes, father," Boromir promised.

Denethor released his grip on his favourite son. Boromir stumbled away, one hand clamped over his sore ear.

Théoden stomped out of the Golden Hall, slamming the doors behind him.

"I hope you're satisfied," he snarled. "My only son is heartbroken, and it is all your fault!"

"What would your Majesty have me do?" Denethor retorted. "Perhaps you would prefer to permit the Slash Fairy to wander free! Perhaps you would rather not correct the damage she has done! Perhaps you are unconcerned about the future of our houses -"

"Yes, yes," Théoden grumbled. "Your point is taken. Come, let us find this mischievous sprite and put an end to her shenanigans."

 

" _Bhí ghreasaí beag bídeach ina chonaí fadó, i gleann beag bídeach i gcrann brea mhór..."_

Saruman the White gave Gandalf the Grey a dirty look as the other wizard strode along with a jolly expression on his face.

"You promised we were going to sell poisoned ice-cream to children!" he groused, sitting down on a small hillock. "Instead all we've done is wander in circles." He took a small pouch from his belt and looked at it in disgust. "And this powder you gave me does absolutely nothing!"

"Give it some time," Gandalf chuckled. He poured out a handful of the rainbow powder and snorted it up his nose. "Oh! Oh, my..." He closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to regain his equilibrium. Gandalf stumbled forward, fell to his knees and ended up with his head resting on Saruman's shoulder. "Your hair looks amazing."

Saruman heaved a sigh of impatience. Gandalf patted him on the back and pushed himself to his feet.

" _Agus b'fhearr sé sonas do shá-sta..."_

 

"Well what d'you want me to DO about it, Windfola?"

The only answer Snowmane got was an angry whinny. The white horse shook his head and walked away.

"Ignore him," Firefoot advised gleefully. "He's just angry because he's a GIRL'S horse."

Windfola bared his teeth at Firefoot, flattening his ears against his head.

"Girl's horse, girl's horse, little girl's horse," Firefoot taunted. "Little cross-dresser's horse–"

"Shut up!" Windfola neighed, rearing up on his hind legs. "You don't know her! I hate this paddock!" With that, the grey steed galloped away to the far corner of the field.

"Wobbler," Snowmane remarked around a mouthful of grass.

"Howayez lads."

Bill poked his head over the wooden fence.

"Hello, Bill," Brego greeted. "Come in." He made his way over to the gate and slid the bolt back with his rubbery lips. "I've composed a new war poem. Want to hear it?"

Just then, a magnificent white stallion entered the field, effortlessly clearing the fence on the run.

"Oh no, it's Shadowfax," Brego muttered. "Quick, pretend you don't see him!"

Shadowfax pranced around the other horses.

"Tails up who likes me!"

The other horses ignored him. Shadowfax pawed the ground impatiently.

"I said, 'Tails up who likes - '"

"Bill hears ya, Bill don't care," Bill interrupted.

Shadowfax glared down his nose at him.

"Oh, it's that filthy little pony from the Shire," he sneered. "I wasn't talking to _you_."

Snowmane looked up.

"Ho, my Mortal approaches," he remarked.

"He's not 'your' Mortal," Shadowfax snapped. "He's my Mortal too!"

Snowmane put his head over the fence. "Good, he carries a saddle. I could do with some exercise."

Shadowfax laughed derisively. "He will never choose a common horse like you when I am here!"

"We shall see," Snowmane retorted. He called softly to his Mortal. "Teddy… Teddy… Come to the one you love most."

Shadowfax trotted around in a small circle.

"The choice is clear!" he called. "I am by far the better steed!"

"The one you love most," Snowmane repeated confidently.

Shadowfax pawed the ground excitedly. "He will choose me! He will choose -" He trailed off as Théoden walked straight towards Snowmane and stroked the other horse's nose, speaking softly to him. Snowmane made a face at Shadowfax as the king opened the gate and led him away. Shadowfax raged silently for a few moments, then, with a toss of his magnificent white mane, turned and galloped away in a passion.

"Such a drama queen," Brego sighed.

"Sure wasn't his sire the same before him, and all belongin' ta him," Bill remarked, tearing at the grass. "All the feckin' same, the Mearas."

Firefoot looked over the fence.

"Hey Windfola! Here comes your little cross-dresser now!"

"Good!" Windfola bawled. "She is the only one who understands me, and one day you will all see what we can do! And on that day, you shall cry bitter tears - bitter, bitter little tears!" He leaped the fence and cantered up to his Mortal, thrusting his nose into her hand.

Bill and Brego gazed after him.

"So how's Mary?"

"Oh, grand, grand," Bill replied. "She got that job after..."

 

Arwen finished brushing her raven tresses, then swept her hair back over her shoulders with an artful toss of her head. She gazed critically at her reflection. All that was left was to decide whether to wear her hair up, or down...

All at once she heard sweet music floating up to the window of her bower. Arwen smiled. Another songfic. So romantic of Estel to serenade her so! She sauntered over to the window and gazed down at the quartet below, for Elladan, Glorfindel and Elrohir were providing Aragorn with backing vocals and musical accompaniment.

_"Arwen can I come over_

_After schoo-oo-oo-oo-ool..."_

_"After school..."_

_"We can hang around_

_By the p-p-p-poo-oo-oo-oo-ool..."_

_"Hang by the pool..."_

Aragorn was not attending school, and there was no pool nearby, but Arwen let it go. Very few songfics were completely accurate, after all...

_"Is your Adar back_

_From his business tri-ip?"_

_"Business trip..."_

Ah, this was more like it. Her father's disapproval of her love for a Mortal was an important factor in their relationship. Only natural that Aragorn would be anxious about running into-

_"Is he there_

_Or is he trying to give me the sli-i-i-i-ip?"_

_"Give me the slip..."_

Arwen frowned.

_"You know I'm not the little boy that I used to be_

_I'm all grown up now, Arwen can't you see?"_

Arwen nearly fell out the window at Aragorn's next words.

_"Lord Elrond_

_Has got it going on_

_He's all I want_

_And I've waited for so-o lo-ong..."_

Glorfindel mashed several notes together, slid off his piano stool, and started rubbing dirt in his ears. The twins, however, continued to sing with gusto.

_"Arwen can't you see_

_You're just not the Elf for me-e_

_I know it might be wrong, but_

_I'm in love with Lord Elrond..."_

Arwen burst into tears, snatched up the shards of Narsil, and flung them at her former lover.

"Oh, now I have lost my place!" Elrohir grumbled, flipping through his sheet music. Arwen stormed past the musicians, mounted Asfaloth without so much as a by-your-leave, and galloped away from Rivendell. The distraught Elf maiden did not stop until she reached a river. She dismounted and sat on the grassy bank, resolving to stare heartbrokenly into the water, and maybe think vengeful thoughts, for the next several hours.

Arwen had not been sitting there long when she realised she was not alone. A young man of Rohan and his grey steed were taking their ease by the river. Seeing her tears, the blonde soldier approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Oh," Arwen gulped. "I have just found out that my - my fiancé loves another." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and the young man offered her a lacy handkerchief. "Thank you." Arwen twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "It was such a shock - the words he sang..." The young soldier slid his arm around Arwen's waist as she continued. "I had suspected about Legolas of Mirkwood, but my own Adar?"

Unbeknownst to Elf, Mortal, or beast, the Slash Fairy flew by, dusting Arwen and the soldier with rainbow powder.

"Can you believe this?" Asfaloth complained as the soldier's grey horse drew nearer. "She's not even my Elf, yet she drags me all the way out here for her little pity party. Bloody women..."

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH WOMEN?!" the grey horse neighed, rearing up on his hind legs. He struck out with his iron-shod hooves. "You dare insult my Mortal? I shall fight you with three of my legs lashed together!"

"Ai Varda, Windfola!" Asfaloth grumbled, shying away. "You nearly deafened me then!" He stretched out his neck and stared at the pair on the riverbank. "Wait... if that is your Mortal... how are you to explain what they are doing?"

"Oh, Dernhelm," Arwen sighed wistfully, relaxing in the soldier's arms, "I feel as though I could tell you anything." She looked away, a troubled expression on her face. "And yet... I fear I could never trust another man again..."

"There is something I must show you," Dernhelm said quietly. He gently pushed her away and stood up. Arwen stared as he opened his jacket.

"Oh!"

"There now, Mr. Frodo," Sam declared. "A nice bath in the river'll take your mind off that old ring."

"Oh, Sam..."

Théoden and Denethor approached the river on horseback. The king and the Steward regarded the pair of hobbits bathing in the cool water.

"Come, we are headed in the right direction," Théoden declared. "The Slash Fairy has passed this way."

Sam wrung out a cloth and began to wash Frodo's back. "Slash Fairy?"

"Scrub harder, Sam," Frodo murmured. " Harder than that..."

The two men continued to follow the river. They had not gone far when Denethor pulled his horse up short.

"Hold," he murmured, signing for Théoden to keep silent. He listened carefully. "Do you hear it?"

Théoden strained his ears and detected faint moans coming from up ahead. Denethor dismounted and ventured forth to investigate.

"Oho!"

Théoden leaped from Snowmane's back, landed wrong, swore loudly and composed himself before joining the Steward.

"Oh, oh! Dernhelm... Dernhelm... Dernhelm!"

"Call me... Éowyn..."

"Oh, Éowyn! Oh yes, yes, YES!"

"Aahh!" Théoden grabbed Denethor and pulled him away. "Do not stare! That is my niece!"

Denethor cackled. "Such a sight is an excellent antidote to the Slash Fairy's devastating effects," he declared, discreetly slipping a hand under his robe.

Théoden glared at him - then his eyes widened as he spied the Slash Fairy perching on Denethor's shoulder.

"Hold... very... still, Denethor," he warned, drawing his sword.

Denethor saw the flash of the blade at the edge of his vision and leaped away with a yell. The Slash Fairy skilfully dodged Théoden's sword and, with one beat of her wings, blew clouds of glittering powder into both men's faces.

Denethor looked at Théoden.

Théoden looked at Denethor.

A moment later they were locked in a passionate embrace, tearing at each other's clothes as each fought for dominance.

"I am a king, I outrank you!"

"Nonsense! Gondor is of far greater geopolitical significance than Rohan!"

"Would your feelings on the subject change if I were to do _this_?"

" _Aahhhaaaahhh_ , Théoden, that is most unfair!"

"Nay, Denethor; doing _this_ is most unfair."

"Ooohh! _Two_ can play at this game..."

"Uhhhh..."

Snowmane snorted in disgust. Oh, no-one ever fetched a pail of water when two Mortals were involved! He stuck his hoof through the reins and wandered a few yards away to crop the grass by the river.

"Come away, Asfaloth!" Windfola shouted from downstream. "Let them have some privacy!"

Asfaloth ignored the grey horse and continued to stamp merrily along in time to the movements of the Elf and the Mortal.

"Filthy pervert!" Windfola yelled.

Asfaloth paused on hearing the sound of running feet. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was approaching, with the twins and Glorfindel in his wake.

"Arwen!" Aragorn called breathlessly. He spotted the white horse and sprinted towards him. "Arwen, I know not what came over me. My heart belongs to you alone! Please, I beg of you, grant me your forgi -"

The Mortal stopped dead, almost causing his three companions to crash into him.

"Aragorn, watch where you're -" Elladan broke off as he noticed his sister and the blonde Mortal entwined together on the grass. "Oh!"

Elrohir put one hand over his own eyes and the other over Elladan's. "Back away, dear brother. Back away." The twins began to reverse. Elrohir raised his voice. "Glorfindel, Aragorn, back away!"

Glorfindel roused himself, thought unsexy thoughts, and tugged at Aragorn's sleeve. "Come, Aragorn!"

"I shall, just give me a little longer!" Aragorn replied irritably, jerking his arm free of the Elf's grasp.

Glorfindel frowned, thought for a moment, then shuddered and moved quickly away from the Ranger.

_"D'éirigh mé go maidin agus geal mo chroí, dí dú run run run, dí dú run run..."_

Saruman grunted in irritation as Gandalf swung his arms jauntily and performed the ancient dance known as the Funky Chicken.

"Unless we cause some misery or mayhem soon, Gandalf, I shall be forced to beat you with my staff for amusement!" the white wizard snapped.

Gandalf did a twirl.

"Look over there," he declared. "Some Elves who seem most upset." He raised his voice. "What troubles thee, Fair Ones?"

"We have seen our sister naked!" Elladan cried. "I must wash my eyes! Or perhaps pluck them out!"

Saruman snorted.

"I thought you filthy Elves enjoyed that kind of thing," he spat.

Elrohir was most affronted.

"How dare you!" he bellowed. "Do not confuse us with the sons of... of..." He paused and thought for a moment, his finger on his lips. "Who  **is**  the father of Rumil and Orophin?"

Gandalf burst into laughter.

"Now there is a can of worms!" he cackled, before flinging himself in some nettles and laughing at various words.

Saruman growled angrily and began to stalk away, tired of all this foolishness. He had travelled but a few yards when he came upon two elderly naked Mortal men, slumbering in the rushes. Saruman put his hands on his hips and spoke in a loud voice.

"Everyone, come over here and look at this!"

Théoden shook his head sleepily and stared down at Denethor's nude form.

"Oh no…"

Denethor rubbed his eyes, slowly coming to his senses. He let out a shriek and pushed the king away from him.

"Oh... ye... Valar," Elrohir declared, arriving on the scene. Denethor scrambled for his cloak as Elladan, Glorfindel and Gandalf joined Elrohir. Théoden scowled at the onlookers, shielding the crown jewels with a bunch of simbelmyne.

"Carve a picture, 'twill last longer!"

"As you wish," Elladan replied cheekily, whipping out a knife and a piece of wood. A moment later he leaped skilfully out of the flight path of Théoden's sword.

Elrohir tutted disapprovingly.

"Fancy a king not knowing the difference between a melee weapon and a distance weapon," he declared, following it up with an oath as a large rock narrowly missed his head.

"Such shameful disrespect for your betters!"

Both twins turned and beheld Erestor standing behind them.

"Have you no manners?" their old master asked, smacking a switch against the palm of his hand. "I should spank you both till your bottoms are rose pink."

"Ooh, hurt me, hurt me," Elladan replied with a smirk, leaning over and undoing his breeches. As Erestor set about spanking the twins, causing Glorfindel to shriek "Ai Varda! My eyes! My innocent fucking eyes!", Théoden took advantage of the distraction and hauled Denethor behind Snowmane.

"Ugh!" Denethor looked down at himself in disgust. "How am I to dress with your... enjoyment all over me?!"

"You are not the only one in that position," Théoden retorted, blushing. "We shall have to clean ourselves up..."

Denethor looked around them in surprise. "What treachery is this?! All of a sudden we are in my private bathroom!"

"Is that your bathtub?" Théoden asked, pointing to the large tub, filled with hot water and (impossible) scented bath oils, and surrounded by lit, scented candles. "Why, one could fit two grown men... in..."

Both men slowly looked upwards.

The Slash Fairy was hovering just above them.

Théoden made to dive one way, Denethor the other, but scarcely had they tensed their muscles when, with a squeal of "Kawaii!", the Slash Fairy showered them with rainbow powder.

"You know, Denethor, we are very dirty..."

"Mmm, and in more ways than one..."

"And it would be a shame to waste all that water... and the candles..."

"Your Majesty talks too much. I can think of far better uses for that beautiful mouth of yours."

"Ohhh..."

"Hmmm..."

 

Saruman glowered at the spot where Théoden and Denethor had lain together.

"Disgusting," he spat, polishing his staff furiously. "Absolutely disgusting!" He turned his attention to Erestor's master class in BSDM, and began to polish his staff even harder. "Obscene... shameful behaviour... shouldn't be allowed..."

"Now calm down," Gandalf advised, snorting some more rainbow powder. "I know what you need." He knelt in front of the other wizard. Glorfindel ran away crying.

"What an excellent idea," Erestor declared, casting a look at the two Istari. "Now, boy, if your work pleases me, I shall return your satchel. If not, you shall get six of the best."

"I cannot lose!" Elladan remarked cheekily.

Asfaloth stared at his master, who was crouched on the riverbank flinging sand into his eyes. Snowmane wandered up to him.

"Ho, Asfaloth," he greeted. "Brego asked me to ask you if you know of a word that rhymes with orange."

"Ask Brego if I resemble a fucking rhyming dictionary," Asfaloth replied. He nodded at Glorfindel. "What do you suppose my Elf is doing?"

Snowmane had a look.

"Oh, this is nothing!" he neighed. " Nothing compared to what my Mortal was doing a short while ago."

"What was that?" Asfaloth asked.

Snowmane rolled his eyes.

"Let us just say that 'tis no wonder I have found it so difficult to breed from him," he replied acidly.

Glorfindel stumbled up from the river, mud and tears streaming down his face.

"Take me home, Asfaloth," he wept, clambering onto the white horse's back. "I no longer desire any of my senses."

"I must make for Rivendell," Asfaloth sighed. "Take care."

"Will your Elf be all right?" Snowmane asked.

"He simply needs wine," Asfaloth answered. "Lots of wine. Then he will soon forget."

Snowmane watched the other white horse go, then strolled along the riverbank, passing Aragorn, Arwen and Éowyn.

"But surely, what you truly desire is a man both of you can share!"

"Let me think... No!"

"Oh! At least let me watch!"

"No!"

"... What if you made me some kind of slave?"

"Hmm..."

 

Meanwhile, in a forest glade, Legolas Greenleaf lounged against a tree, observing his companion through half-closed eyes. Perhaps t'was the scent of pine... perhaps t'was the way the light filtered romantically through the leaves... or perhaps t'was the way Gimli son of Glóin was ever so sexfully devouring freshly cooked meat straight off the spit, letting the grease run down and congeal in his beard. Whatever it was, the prince of Mirkwood greatly desired to throw the Dwarf to the grass and have his wicked way with him.

"Gimli," Legolas called, sensuously pushing himself upright and sashaying towards the Dwarf. Gimli used his beard to wipe his mouth and looked up at the Elf suspiciously.

"You chose Lembas bread, you live with Lembas bread!" he declared, tightly clutching a leg of wild boar.

Legolas shook his head. "Though I have an... appetite, it is not supper that I wish to discuss," he replied.

Gimli eyed him for a few seconds more, then put down the meat. "Yes?"

Legolas sat on the grass, folding his legs under himself, and leaned towards the Dwarf.

"We Elves have a custom on the eve of -"

"Eve?" Gimli interrupted, looking up in puzzlement at the blue, sunlit sky. "'Tis the afternoon!"

Legolas began again, running a hand slowly up his body.

"We Elves have a custom on the afternoon of the eve of battle..."

"Battle?" Gimli leaped to his feet and drew his axe. "What battle? When? Why did no-one tell me?"

Legolas rose also, this time playing with the end of his tunic. "We Elves have a custom on the afternoon of the eve of a possible battle..."

"Possible battle?" Gimli asked. "What do you mean, 'possible battle'? Is there to be a battle or not?"

"Oh, shut up and kiss me, you hairy, courageous, disgustingly sexy Dwarf!" Legolas cried impatiently, picking Gimli up and planting one on his lips.

"Oh!" Gimli exclaimed, understanding at last. "Oh... well I don't usually... ooh, that feels good... let me try..."

"Mmmmmoooooohhhhhh..." Legolas writhed in ecstasy at Gimli's expert ministrations.

"Wait a minute - I thought there weren't going to be any explicit sexual descriptions in this story!"

"There's just that line... we have to - oh, don't stop - get the word 'ministrations' in here somehow..."

"Ah... aaaaahhhhh..."

 

Théoden, King, was brought abruptly to full consciousness when something soft and suffocating was slipped over his face, cutting off his air supply. The king struggled and managed to wrestle away the pillow and the hand that held it.

"What are you doing?" he shouted at Denethor.

"Curing your Majesty of snoring," Denethor snarled back. He flung Théoden's breeches at him. "Get dressed. That blasted Slash Fairy is still at large. We will not catch her by lazing in bed all day."

Théoden gazed pensively at his hands.

"You know, Denethor," he said hesitantly, "we have both been alone for so very long... is it really such a bad thing to find... comfort in one another? What harm is there if we enjoy the pleasure our bodies can provide -"

Denethor threw a bucket of freezing, dirty bathwater over the king.

"Many thanks," Théoden declared, sweeping his soaking hair back from his face. "I know not what came over me just then..."

Denethor grunted.

"The same thing that has come over us both four times already since last night," he growled, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Why is this happening so often? Why today?"

Théoden smacked his fist into his other hand.

"It is surely some plot of Sauron's!" he declared. "With our passions aflame, and distracted by the pleasures of flesh, Mordor will be able to invade our lands, covering all of Middle Earth in a second darkness." He shook his head. "Ah, it is a cunning plan indeed."

 

"Just WHO is Saruman the White?"

The Witch King of Angmar burst into Barad-Hur, brandishing a piece of paper.

"Did you suppose I would not find out?" the leader of the Nine asked, trembling with rage. "Or did you purposefully 'forget' that your palantir bill was itemised?"

"Saruman the White?" Sauron replied. "He is no-one. Simply a friend. He will aid me in my conquest of Middle Earth."

"Oh." The Witch King of Angmar turned away. "It seems you will no longer require MY services, then!"

Sauron heaved a sigh.

"Of course I shall," he declared. "I can conquer nothing without my ring. I need you to find it for me." He placed his hands on the wraith's bony shoulders and began to rub them gently. "You will find it for me, will you not?"

The Witch King bit his lip, still unwilling to relent. "Well..."

"Angie," Sauron breathed seductively, " I've only ever had Eye for you..."

The other eight Nazgûl looked at each other as the Dark Lord set about, ahem, reassuring their leader.

"And just what are we to do?"

"... Demonic orgy at the foot of Mount Doom?"

"Ooh, I like it!"

"I'll bring the salsa!"

"I'll bring the goat blood!"

"Don’t forget the mithril sex toys!"

 

Merry ran through the grass, which was nearly as high as a Shireling's eye, calling to his friend.

"Over here, Pip!"

The other hobbit followed, huffing and puffing.

"Are we nearly there yet?"

Merry halted at a patch of soft, moss-covered ground below a rocky outcropping, well hidden from prying eyes.

"This looks like a good place," he remarked as Pippin caught up with him. Pippin looked around at the spot and nodded in approval.

"Right. C'mere, you."

Giggling, both halflings tumbled to the earth together.

"Oh, Pip... oh that's good..."

"Mmm... hey, careful, that's delicate! Aah... much better..."

"Hold on." Merry stopped what he was doing, ignoring Pippin's whimpers of protest, and listened. " D'you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Pip asked breathlessly, but his friend had already rearranged his clothes and was scaling the rocky outcropping. With a sigh of disappointment, Pip got up and followed him.

"Look," Merry whispered, pointing upwards. There was a small, dark cave, which no doubt provided ideal shelter from dangerous storms, in the side of the outcropping. Both hobbits clambered up and peered into the mouth of the cave... and goggled at the shadowy figures within.

"Mmmmmm, Faramir..."

"Oh, does that feel good?"

"Aaaahhhhh..."

Pip chose that moment to sneeze loudly.

Faramir and Éomer leaped away from one another.

"What are you doing here?" Éomer asked hotly, blushing a deep red.

"No-nothing," Merry answered, quickly hitching up his collar to hide a lovebite. "What are YOU doing here?"

"Al-also nothing," Éomer replied, as Faramir tossed away a roll of bandages.

"Well, good," Pippin remarked, folding his arms and then quickly un-folding them again when he realised he needed his hands to hold onto the rockface.

"Carry on then," Merry added.

"All right, we shall," Faramir declared.

Merry and Pippin began to climb down from the cave. Once they were out of sight, Éomer and Faramir fell back into each other's arms.

"Perhaps now we can get back to shuddering to completion," Faramir murmured.

"Hmmmm..." Éomer buried his face in his lover's neck.

The peaceful silence was abruptly shattered by loud, mournful music, which seemed to come from all around them. Both men let go of each other and made for the mouth of the cave. The weather had changed abruptly - the sky had grown dark and overcast. Merry and Pippin stood in the clearing below, looking around in confusion.

"Where's that music coming from?" Merry asked.

Pippin turned and looked up. "Her?"

Éomer and Faramir emerged from the cave and slid down into the clearing. There they gazed in bewilderment at Lady Galadriel standing atop the cave, singing in a loud, clear voice.

_"Near, far, whereeeeeever we are,_

_I believe that the heart does go o-on..."_

"A lament?" Faramir ventured.

"Nay," Éomer replied, "I wager 'tis an obscure, convoluted in-joke."

"Look!" Merry cried, pointing to the river, which had conveniently appeared nearby. There stood Théodred, his handsome face stained with tears.

"Oh, Boromir!" he cried out. "Boromir, my love, you are slain!"

"Boromir, slain?!" Faramir exclaimed. He looked as though he would burst into tears. "That fucking old man never tells me ANYTHING!"

"You are gone," Théodred wailed, "and I have nothing left of you... nothing but that final night we spent together..."

"The voices in my head are screaming 'M'preg! M'preg!' "Pippin cried, putting his hands over his ears.

"'Dred!"

The four observers looked up and saw Boromir, wading through the river towards Théodred. As he climbed out at the near side of the bank, the clouds parted and the sun shone down on the couple. Galadriel broke off in mid-verse and folded her arms in displeasure.

"Dry your eyes, dear, dear 'Dred," Boromir murmured, kissing the prince's tears away.

"Boz," Théodred gulped, clutching the other man tightly, caring not about how wet he was. Boromir tilted Théodred's face up to his and the two shared a long, deep kiss.

"Father will not be pleased," Faramir remarked, shaking his head.

 

"Ooooh yesss, preciousss, at last, someone who likes the dark places as much as we does..."

"Let me show you how I came by the name 'Wormtongue'..."

Denethor stumbled backwards out of the rushes, nearly falling over Théoden, who was being quite ill in a nearby bush.

"Ye Valar," the king moaned, "I have not seen such a disturbing sight since I walked in on Éomund being intimate with a sandwich."

Denethor paid him no heed, as he was busy trying to produce a spark with two pieces of flint. "Fire... fire... lovely fire... fire is the cleanser..."

Théoden finished retching and looked up. "Théodred?!"

Denethor abandoned his attempt at self-immolation and followed the king's gaze. He went red, then purple, then stormed through the grass towards his beloved oldest son, with Théoden in his wake.

"Oh, there's going to be a dreadful row!" Pippin declared gleefully.

Denethor grabbed Théodred by the arm and pulled him away from Boromir.

"Get away from my son!"

Théoden pushed Denethor away from Théodred.

"How dare you touch my child!" he bellowed, before dragging Théodred further away from Boromir. "Get away from his son!"

Théodred pulled away from his father and rejoined Boromir. "Leave me be!"

"We love each other!" Boromir shouted, wrapping his arms around Théodred. "You can accept what we are – or we shall run away together, and you will never see us again!"

Denethor looked as though he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"You are both disgusting!" he spat.

"Disgusting?!" Théodred yelled. "How dare you condemn us, when 'tis all you can do to keep your hands off each other!"

Théoden and Denethor suddenly realised that they had their hands on each other's bottoms. They sprang away from each other with a yell.

"Have you never wondered why neither of us ever walked out with a lady?" Boromir asked. "Has it never crossed your minds that there might be some reason we had no time for wassailing and wenching?"

"Boromir, please, reconsider," Denethor begged. "Perhaps you have not met the right woman." He ran a hand through his hair and lamented, "If only there was not such a dearth of independent, feisty, beautiful female characters around here!"

All at once an army of Avatari (or Mary Sues, in the common tongue) hove into view.

"You fool!" Théoden bellowed, smacking Denethor on the back of the head. "See what you have done! Now we shall be plagued by these creatures for months!"

"How DARE you strike me, sir!" Denethor yelled. "This means WAR!"

"I look forward to it!" Théoden snarled.

The Slash Fairy darted by, covering Théoden and Denethor with rainbow powder.

Denethor seized Théoden's hand.

"Marry me, Teddy!"

"Oh, 'Thor, you've made me the happiest monarch in all Middle Earth!" Théoden cried in ecstasy. Everyone cheered as the king swept the Steward into his arms and kissed him passionately.

"Wedding! Wedding!" Gandalf yelled, appearing from nowhere and tossing flower petals in the air.

Boromir wiped away a tear.

"Oh, 'Dred," he sniffed, "is this not a most joyous occasion?"

Théodred took Boromir's hand.

"And there is yet more good news," he replied, "for I am with child by you, Boz."

"Ha! I told you!" Pip shouted, jumping up and down, as about thirty Avatari burst into tears.

Snowmane gazed in amusement at the happy scene and shook his head.

"How puzzling our two-legged friends can be," he remarked to Firefoot.

"We have hit every slash cliché save one," Brego declared. "All that remains is for someone to say –"

"'Inner chamber of delights'!" Windfola said impatiently. "There! Now let us do our song!"

The other horses whinnied in agreement and lined up behind Snowmane.

_"Livin' on the edge, listen to him breathing low,"_  the white horse sang,

_"Sittin' at attention, beggin' me to touch and go-o..."_

The other horses joined in.

_"Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Ride into the_

_Danger zone..."_

Windfola took up the next verse.

_"Headin' into twilight, spreading out our wings toni-ight,_

_She got me jumping over Orcs, shoving into overdri-ive..."_

_"Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_I'll take you right into the_

_Danger zone..."_

_"Never say hello to you,"_ Brego sang,  _"when he gets in the saddle then I know,_

_You'll never know what you can do till you gallop as fast as you can go-o-o-o..."_

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bill shouted. "The cheek! They're scrolling past our song! Oi! Young one! Leave that scroll bar alone!"

Firefoot took the last verse.

_"Out here on the edge is always where I've burned to be,_

_Further on the edge, the hotter the intensity-y..."_

_"Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Gonna take you_

_Right into the_

_Danger zone,_

_Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Ride into the_

_Danger zo-o-o-o-one..._

_Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Gonna take you_

_Right into the_

_Danger zone,_

_Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Ride into the_

_Danger zone..._

_Highway to the_

_Danger zone,"_

"Bill! Where did you get that saxophone? And how the fuck are you playing it?!"

_"Gonna take you_

_Right into the_

_Danger zone,_

_Highway to the_

_Danger zone,_

_Ride into the_

_Danger zone..."_

 

Glorfindel drained his goblet and reached for the wine bottle. Finding it empty, he tossed it over his shoulder.

"Why'm I fighting it?" he slurred to Asfaloth. "Eh? I, I mean, if you can't beat 'em, then..." He slid face down on the table, rendering the rest of his sentence incomprehensible. Asfaloth rolled his eyes and attempted to nudge his Elf into the nearby horse trough.

"Fin?"

Lord Elrond approached the drunken Elf and gently shook him by the shoulder.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Glorfindel managed to lift his head up enough to look the Lord of Imladris in the face.

"Oh, very well, then," he hiccupped. He tried to stand up, but stumbled and fell forward. Elrond rushed to catch him. Glorfindel found himself with his head on Elrond's shoulder, and the other Elf's arms around his waist.

"You smell like elderberries," Glorfindel mumbled.

Elrond frowned. "Fin?"

Glorfindel straightened up and backed away. He hit the edge of the table and fell back on it.

"Be gentle, sweet one, it's my first time," he yawned, before passing out.

As Elrond gazed at the golden-haired Elf, he was struck by a revelation. He'd wanted Fin for years; his marriage was a complete sham; he had only wed Celebrian because he was in denial about his true nature;  _agus ar lean._  But he could not take Glorfindel like this - it would be wrong to take advantage of his inebriated state. With a sigh, Elrond picked Glorfindel up and carried him to his bedchamber, and a cute, fluffy scene in the next chapter, where he nursed Fin through his hangover.

"Kawaii!" squealed the Slash Fairy, and flitted away.

The End


End file.
